


you sucked me and now i'm dead you beautiful bitch

by orphan_account



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Character Turned Into Vampire, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 01:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18982894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Oh my God, you killed me,” Pat says.Brian, who is in the middle of panicking over accidentally killing his boyfriend, screams and falls out of bed.“What the fuck, Brian?”





	you sucked me and now i'm dead you beautiful bitch

**Author's Note:**

> this is to make up for the fact that boat cops probably won't end up with an interlude this week and also uhhh dumbass gay vampire boys

“Oh my God, you killed me,” Pat says, looking down at the, frankly, astounding pool of blood he’s lying in. “What the fuck, Brian?”

 

Brian, who is in the middle of panicking over accidentally killing his boyfriend, screams and falls out of bed, smacking the back of his head against the nightstand. He groans, pressing his hand to his head and wincing. 

 

“I’m...sorry? What the fuck?” he asks, blinking blearily in the low lamplight. Because he killed Pat. He did. He didn’t mean to, it was just supposed to be one of their regular feedings, but, like. He  _ died _ . And maybe Brian had panicked and bit his own hand open and had shoved his wound into Pat’s mouth out of pure desperation, but he didn’t expect it to  _ work _ .

 

Pat grimaces and peels himself off of the bed with a distinct slurping-sticky sound that chills Brian to his bones. He sniffs his skin and coughs, turning his head away. 

 

“Why does my blood smell like pepperoni?” Pat asks, far too interested in that considering he just  _ fucking died holy shit _ . 

 

“Because you, uh, oh, fuck,” Brian mutters, still trying to calm himself down enough to stand and beg for his boyfriend’s mercy. “I’m sorry, oh, God.”

 

“Pepperoni? Really? I don’t eat that much pizza.”

 

“You absolutely do, but,  _ God _ , Pat, I’m sorry, please don’t hate me-”

 

Pat frowns. “I don’t hate you.”

 

Brian gapes. “You...I killed you, Pat. You’re dead. There’s no coming back from this.”

 

“I’ve been dead inside for years,” Pat shrugs. He pulls his shirt away from his chest and winces. “Oh, yep, those are claw marks.”

 

“Sorry. I’ll, uh, I can clean all this up. Except for the you. Oh, God.”

 

Brian manages to pull himself to his feet, eyes completely focused on the Pat-shaped pool of blood on his side of the bed. Oh, God. He quickly finds himself back on the floor again, his knees to his chest, staring blankly at the wall. Nice wall. Blue wall, nice and calming, nice wall. 

 

He feels an arm slip around his shoulders and he hisses, recoiling, blushing and ducking his head when he sees Pat’s concerned expression. Brian murmurs out an apology and scoots closer, dropping his head against Pat’s chest. It’s not comfortable, but maybe he doesn’t deserve comfortable right now. Maybe he deserves, like, death. 

 

“You’re more torn up about this than I am,” Pat comments, and Brian laughs as calmly as he can, which is borderline-hysterical. 

 

“I killed you,” he wheezes, shaking his head, shaking his entire body because he’s panicking, okay? “I fucking killed you, Pat, how are you not, like, kicking me out of the apartment and calling the cops right now?”

 

“Because, A, I love you, and, B, I’m not dead.” He pauses, and then continues contemplatively, “I mean, I am dead. But I’m not dead-dead. You saved me, didn’t you?”

 

“I killed you first.”

 

“You were hungry, babe, I can’t blame you for that.”

 

“I ate your fucking heart, Patrick!”

 

“And I’ve given it to you a million times already. Fuck, dude, I’m just happy that we can finally move past the drinking-my-blood stage.”

 

Brian snorts. “Finally moving to third base.”

 

Pat squeezes his shoulder, smiling lightly. “We need to clean the sheets, anyway, if you wanna-”

 

Brian growls and shakes himself free, scooting away and pointing at him. “Absolutely not. No, stop smiling, we are not doing this. Not now.”

 

“Tonight?”

 

“God, yes. But I just…” Brian stops and sniffs, his voice catching. He hasn’t cried in fifty years, now look at him. All Pat’s fault, that beautiful, wonderful bastard. “I killed you.”

 

“And I’m fine now,” Pat gently says. He smiles wider, and Brian can catch sight of two adorable little nubs starting to poke through his gums. He knows Pat won’t be smiling in about ten minutes when the Process fully begins to kick in. And he definitely won’t be smiling when he finds out that he can never have pizza again. 

 

Brian steels himself and nods. He can panic once Pat’s in another room being transformed into a creature of the night. 

 

“The ropes still in the closet?” he asks, and Pat brightly nods. 

 

-

 

Pat isn’t nearly as enthusiastic ten minutes later as he screams into a gag, tied up and dumped in the bathtub as Brian talks to Charles, explains that his dad is fine and that he can stop crying. Talks to himself, explains that his boyfriend is fine and that he can stop crying. But all he can see when he closes his eyes is the blood and the still-beating heart of the love of his life, and so he decides to never blink again. 

 

-

 

“M’teef,” Pat whines around his gag, and Brian sighs pityingly and wipes Pat’s sweat-soaked hair out of his face. 

 

He stopped screaming about an hour ago, most of the Process done, but the fangs take a while. Took Brian a full 24-hours to get his in when he was turned, and he only hopes it doesn’t take Pat’s that long. Because Pat, while tough-as-nails and very, very tolerant to pain, is a little baby when he gets a toothache. And, yeah, Brian could untie his hands, but he also doesn’t want that gag out simply because he doesn’t want to deal with the bitching. Even though the bitching is his fault. Actually, yeah, that’s exactly why he doesn’t want it. 

 

Pat nuzzles his face into Brian’s palm with a whine, and, wow, his face is wet. Sweat, slobber, a bit of blood leftover from his literal murder, tears. Brian feels himself tearing up again and is very glad that Pat’s eyes have been screwed shut the whole time. 

 

“I know, sweetheart,” Brian whispers, quiet both for Pat’s headache and his own sake, because he maybe cried his voice out while Pat was in the middle of the Process. “I’m sorry.”

 

Pat moans in response, and Brian closes his eyes just long enough to rewatch his boyfriend’s death and open them again and turn back to the toilet to throw up what remaining blood he has left in his stomach. 

 

-

 

Thank God the fangs finish growing in before dark, because Brian’s starving, and that means that Pat has to be  _ starving _ . Brian remembers eating an entire seven-course meal for his first feed, he and his sire trapping a group of German tourists on the side of the highway and devouring them in their tour bus. He won’t be able to find that kind of thing tonight, not in New York, anyway. Pizza guy will have to do. 

 

Pat watches Brian pace animalistically, snarling softly every time he makes a sudden move. Hence the pacing. Pat likes the pacing, it’s rhythmic and keeps Brian in eyesight. He was in the living room for all of two seconds before hearing Pat fucking  _ howl _ and running back into the bathroom. 

 

Brian finishes placing the order and slides his phone in his pocket, pausing his pacing just long enough to flip the toilet seat down and sit. Pat rumbles in a brief opposition before seemingly realizing that Brian is closer, so he huffs and wriggles to a position where he can stare. Brian stares back for a moment before getting too caught up in Pat’s...position and turning away before he feels the need to pull anything drastic. 

 

The Process is over by now, technically, the fangs having grown in and the various bodily systems having finished rearranging themselves. But that only means that Pat is going to be hungry for about a week straight, unable to go for too long without feeding. It’s a thing, maybe. Or maybe that was just Brian and his dumb, undernourished body. 

 

At one point in the afternoon, Pat had fallen as close to asleep as a vampire can get, and Brian had snuck away to deal with the bedroom. And it isn’t the worst they’ve messed up the bed, but it’s close (the runner up being when they were painting the ceiling a nice, cool grey color after moving in and deciding, yeah, green wasn’t going to work). Brian didn’t end up washing the sheets. He grabbed a lighter and took them out onto the balcony and burned them until the upstairs neighbors started screaming. By the time he got back in, Pat was curled up with his neck pinned between the faucet and the wall and the rest of his body in some sort of weird position that somehow kept all of him in the tub. And then Pat’s red, red eyes snapped open and he  _ roared _ . 

 

The doorbell rings, and Pat’s head snaps towards the rest of the apartment, his eyes narrowing and his lips peeling back in a fresh snarl. Brian carefully pats his Pat before leaving the bathroom, realizing that he’s still in his bloody pajamas when he opens the door and the pizza guy drops the pizza. 

 

“Oh, God,” says the pizza guy.

 

“Don’t worry,” Brian smiles, turning up the classic ‘I totally won’t try and kill you’ charm every vampire comes installed with. “it’s not mine. Come on in, I left my checkbook in my room.”

 

The pizza guy’s eyes go blank, and he nods and steps into the apartment. Brian glances around the hallway outside before closing the door and locking all of the chains. He nods politely at the pizza man because, while the guy might be hypnotized beyond all belief, Brian was raised to be kind to service workers. Pat, in the bathroom, growls, and Brian swallows as he approaches the tub. 

 

He does the hands first, and he doesn’t even need to get the gag because Pat’s immediately ripping it off his face and tackling Brian to the ground with a bruising kiss, both his hands planted firmly on Brian’s cheeks.

 

Brian relaxes and kisses back for a moment, extremely content, before remembering, fuck, and muttering with as much authority as he can muster, “Go eat, then we can play.”

 

Pat, for a moment, doesn’t look like he’s going to budge, but then the pizza guy makes a noise and Pat’s out the door. Brian lies on the tiled floor for a moment, just breathing and listening to the sweet, sweet noises of his boyfriend tearing an innocent man apart and drinking his blood in the next room over. Because maybe he’s dreamed of having a thing like this going since they started dating, only he was going to actually ask first and not brutally murder Pat in the middle of the night in a bloodlust. And that’s the real thing, because he still hasn’t stopped panicking, and it’s been almost twelve hours. 

 

There’s a moment of silence after Pat finishes before Brian hears him say, _ “Oh, sweet, pizza!”  _ and he has to get up and run out and stop him before he takes a bite. 

 

-

 

“So...no pizza?” Pat asks for the billionth time, a tiny glint of hope still in his eyes despite already knowing the answer. “Not ever? What about beer?”

 

“No beer,” Brian says, and Pat full-out  _ wails  _ and slumps over in his seat, face-planting into the table. Brian flinches and awkwardly rubs Pat’s back. “I’m sure I- I can find something. It’s been fifty years, honey, I’m sure someone’s figured something out.”

 

“I’m going to throw myself into the sea,” Pat declares, and Brian snorts. 

 

“That’s my job.”

 

Pat sits up ramrod-straight and looks at him, tears flowing like a river. Yeah, the last phase of the Process isn’t official. Apparently old vampires didn’t believe in emotions, so the unofficial final phase is categorized simply as ‘post-life depression’. Or, as Brian likes to call it, ‘hormones’. The mind is kind of...not there during the Process. So once it catches up with the rest of the body, so many fucking emotions overwhelm you and you feel like you’re drowning and you feel like there’s no hope for anything left in the world. So maybe depression, but only for a couple of hours until you realize how fucking amazing immortality and invulnerability is. 

 

“No,” Pat sobs, grabbing Brian’s arm like it’s a lifeline. “don’t leave me. I love you, God, don’t  _ die _ !”

 

Brian sighs and turns so that he’s facing Pat, and Pat plunges himself into a hug. Brian plants a kiss into the crown of his boyfriend’s head and closes his eyes, suffering through the visions of murder past just so he doesn’t have to acknowledge his own tears. He’s never liked seeing Pat cry. He’s never liked seeing himself cry, though that’s probably a generational thing. 

 

“W-what if I eat Charlie?” Pat asks, voice muffled and broken. 

 

“You won’t eat Charlie,” Brian promises. 

 

“Or Zuko.”

 

“You won’t eat Zuko.”

 

“Or Simone. Or Thomas, or Tara, or-”

 

“Pat, listen to me,” Brian says, lifting the two of them out of a hug and putting both hands on Pat’s arms, looking him in the eye. “Just because you’re a blood-sucking, people-eating machine doesn’t mean you aren’t you. You wouldn’t want to drink their blood without their explicit consent, so you won’t.”

 

Pat’s lip wobbles pathetically and he nods and drops his head onto Brian’s shoulder with another heaving sob. “I’m- I’m sorry.”

 

Brian shakes his head. “You’re fine, honey. None of this is your fault.”

 

“Please don’t throw yourself into the sea.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“I love you.”

 

Brian softly smiles and ruffles the hair on the back of Pat’s head, kissing his head again. “I love you, too. And I’m sorry about...you know.”

 

Pat sniffs. “It isn’t fair. I was going to ask you, and now it won’t be romantic!”

 

Brian takes a moment to think about how in the actual fuck any of this could ever be romantic before chuckling lightly and shaking his head. 

 

“I want pizza,” Pat whines, and Brian decides that enough is enough. He scoops Pat up into a carry, stumbling slightly as Pat jolts and hisses at the sudden movement. “Why are you so strong? It isn’t fair.”

 

“I’ve been lifting,” Brian smiles, laughing at Pat’s immediate grunt of dissent. 

 

The bedroom still smells like Pat’s blood, a weird pepperoni smell that Brian’s sure he’s never going to get out of the carpet. They should rip it up sometime when they actually have money, replace it with something easier to clean. Like linoleum. 

 

Brian freezes as he gets to the bed, only moving once Pat wiggles himself free and flops down upon the bed with a loud groan. Pat crawls to his side and faceplants into his pillow, visibly relaxing, still sobbing. Brian hesitantly gets in after him, lying stiffly and staring at the ceiling. There’s blood on it; he’s going to have to paint over that. 

 

“Brian?” Pat asks, scared. “Are you still there?”

 

Brian starts and immediately grabs Pat’s hand, squeezing it as tight as he can. It would’ve broken Pat’s hand before, now it’s just a normal hold. Brian hasn’t had one of these in decades, not since he was turned. 

 

“Yeah,” he says, voice hoarse, rough, raw. “I’m here.”

 

Pat pokes his head up and sniffs, moving both his and Brian’s hands up so he can wipe at Brian’s tears, which Brian just now notices are there. 

 

“Why are you crying? You’re not the- the one who just got told he can’t have pizza ever again.”

 

Brian shakes his head, laughing a bit frantically. “Pat, I killed you. That’s why you can’t have pizza ever again. You’re dead. Undead, sorry. I’m…I’m sorry.”

 

Pat weakly smiles. “But I’m still here. And I can, uh, unlive without pizza. As long as I’ve got you. So don’t throw yourself into the-”

 

Brian sobs and rolls over and pulls Pat into a bone-crushing hug. “ _ God _ , Patrick, why are you so  _ good _ ?”

 

“I dunno.”

 

Brian buries his face into Pat’s neck, and, for the first time, isn’t tempted to bite down. He lets his eyes close and he watches his boyfriend’s death for the hundredth time, the heart, the blood, Pat’s sweet, beautiful, loving, human smile on his cold, dead face, not having had time to turn to horror, disgust before dying (Brian doesn’t pay attention to the fact that Pat’s the one that offered his chest in the first place, that he’s the one that pulled off his shirt in the first place, that he told the monster that was Brian that it was okay right before Brian tore in, that it was  _ all Pat’s idea _ ), and it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. Because Pat should be that same smiling human. Human. 

 

“Please don’t die again,” Brian murmurs into Pat’s cold, bare skin. “I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself if I let you die a second time.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Pat says, his hands steady and  _ there  _ on Brian’s back, and Brian knows it should be the other way around. Pat’s the one who was just turned, not Brian, Brian has no fucking reason to be like this. 

 

“God, you’re romantic,” Brian sighs. He lightly kisses Pat’s neck because he can, and Pat’s quiet sobs subside just for a moment, though he still shakes in Brian’s arms, and Brian shakes in his. 

 

-

 

The next morning, Pat’s back to as normal as he can be now that he’s a nightmare monster of the darkness. 

 

He’s at the table staring at his phone thoughtfully, idly running a thumb over his new fangs. He’s in his red flannel today, having stolen it back from Brian in a secret operation at some point while Brian was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. His hair is still wet from their shared shower (they had to get the blood off somehow and like hell Brian was going to not help Pat investigate his new, improved body), water dripping off the ends and onto the table. 

 

Brian slides into the seat next to him and leans his head against his shoulder, reading over his shoulder. A small smile curls onto his face. 

 

“Blood coffee?” he asks, and Pat blushes about as much as a creature with almost no blood can. 

 

“I’m, uh, researching. Good morning.”

 

Brian rolls his eyes and kisses him, sneaking a tongue through to lick at his fangs, living in the way Pat shudders and lightly moans. 

 

He pulls away with a smirk, settling back down and pulling Pat’s hand closer so he can read properly. “Good morning. Again.”

 

“Is that going to be-”

 

“Oh, honey, they never stop.”

 

And Pat grins sharply, his fangs glinting in the pale sunlight, and he leans in for a kiss that Brian, of course, accepts.

**Author's Note:**

> i have nothing to plug so uhhh go read my other stuff if you want. comment or kudos if you want, I guess, you do you, friends.


End file.
